Page 15 of Property of The Grump

Wren cracks another smile, this one with her gaze flickering toward mine. “I can appreciate that. I don’t like it when people touch my things either, but most local companies are more than willing to help the community. If you’re against donations, let me call around and see if there are any contractors that would be willing to donate some labor and parts. You could have this whole place fixed up by the end of the month.”

“Father Anderson already told you that he’s a DIY kind of guy,” Leanne snarls as her arms cross over her chest.

“I’m only trying to help,” Wren continues, twisting her long, black hair to the side of her shoulder. “It has to be exhausting carrying the weight of trying to fix everything all the time. It might help you be more productive if you delegate some of the tasks you’re trying to finish on your own. Like the painting, for instance. We don’t even have to call out for that. We could put a flyer up and ask for volunteers right here at the church. I’m sure you could get a group of ten to fifteen people who wouldn’t mind spending the afternoon with a paintbrush.”

“You don’t know this congregation,” Leanne continues with disdain. “People aren’t—”

“Well, it’s not an entirely bad idea,” I say, leaning in toward Wren. “I’d be willing to talk about it after mass, if you’d like to meet me in the rectory.”

There’s an annoyed sigh from Leanne that I don’t think she meant for anyone to hear. “The potluck and the bake sale start right after church. Everyone comes to talk to you. You can’t miss that.”

“And I won’t. My discussion with Wren should only take a few minutes.” The door creaks open again, and light filters through. It’s the Hendersons. They always arrive twenty minutes early, so I’ve got to get moving. “If you’ll excuse me, mass startssoon and I need to say hello to everyone. Wren, I’ll see you directly after service.”

She lifts her gaze and adjusts her dress before dropping her smile.

The whole scene sends an unholy pulse toward my groin. An electricity that renders me combustible. I need to get a grip, or this could get out of control quickly.

Chapter Six

Wren

Seven Years Ago

I’ve gotten four texts from Zane asking why I haven’t posted to social media yet this morning about my charity work, two more from Tilly with vulgar comments on Father Anderson and his bulging biceps, and a couple from my mom asking when I’m stopping by for dinner this week.

I know I should get back to everyone, but I’m currently ignoring all responsibilities in favor of worship, though what I’m worshipping is up for debate at this point. All I know for sure is that I’m definitely not staring at the big man with strong shoulders and dark ink peeking out from beneath his robe.

No, that would be crazy.

“He’s a good-looking man, isn’t he?” Leanne leans into my side and whispers low, a beat of sarcasm in her tone.

I shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it. He’s a priest.”

“Sure,” she continues, “but I think he’s frustrated.”

My gaze widens as I glance toward the woman to my side quickly, then back toward Father Anderson.

“What?” the blonde continues. “You don’t think a big, strong man like that isn’t going to go home at night frustrated as hell? He’s a human male. The man must need relief.”

I don’t know how to respond. The whole church is currently on their feet singing a hymn, and this woman is whispering in my ear about the priest’s carnal needs.

“I saw the way he looked at you.”

“What?” I hiss, not bothering to look toward her.

“Don’t play dumb. You showed up here in that cute little dress and that smile like you want to help, but we both know you’re a lonely housewife looking for attention. Apparently, innocent and dumb is Father Anderson’s type, but I’ve been here, putting in the hours. The much-needed time.”

I want to give this woman a piece of my mind, but we’re nearing the end of the sermon and the whole congregation is standing in song, clapping and swaying back and forth. If I freak out right now, who knows what I’d be starting. Besides, freaking out assumes she’s right, and she’s not. She’s misguided, and I’m sure there’s some religious rule about helping misguided people that doesn’t involve a slap in the face.

“I think you should stop now,” I say. “I’m a married woman.”

“And he’s a man of God, but at the end of the day… a man of God still has needs.”

The song ends, and Father Anderson dismisses the congregation, as Betty, his lovely mother, tucks her hand into mine and leads me out of the pew, away from Leanne and toward the front of the church. “I’ve got to go help get ready for the potluck, but the rectory is right behind that door. Kade will be back shortly.”

I lean into the sweet woman for a hug, breathing in the scent of leather on her skin. It’s comforting and reminds me of my grandparents’ place. They had a little hobby ranch up in the mountains I used to spend summers at. The whole place smelled like leather, freshly cut grass, and wild berries.

Betty smiles kindly before joining the small group of women dressed in modest floral dresses and wide-brimmed hats. Their husbands were with them a moment ago, but they’re now congregating at the back of the church talking and laughing.